Our unpredictable human lives don't play out like a neat, well-composed work of fiction. Though we may attempt to read events as good or bad for us, the path will teach us otherwise, as things just don't stop twisting and turning. Awareness and acceptance of the transitional nature of everything around and within us is the only way to make peace with our place in the world.

A few days ago I was fortunate enough to attend a session of Edible Education 101 at UC Berkeley guest starring Alice Waters and The Kitchen Sisters. No matter how long I live in the Bay Area, I hope I always live it as a newcomer, and take advantage of the many exciting events this place has to offer, without just settling into the fact that famous people I am interested in happen to be local, around and about.

Although I personally -unfortunately- can't eat wheat, it is one of the staples of the Mediterranean diet. The gluten-free craze forgets that wheat is a traditional, even sacred food in many cultures, eaten for millennia.

Totally unexpected. After 6 months living in the Bay Area, lately I find myself day-dreaming less about the sunny Mediterranean bustling streets of my Barcelona, but more about the hilly green landscape of the Basque Country.

A few days ago it was my great pleasure to meet Jorge Saldana, owner of Cancun (Berkeley) and Tlaloc (San Francisco) restaurants. Marissa of Bay Area Green Tours, invited us to spend the afternoon on Jorge's farm, Sabor Mexicano, near Guerneville on Russian River.

Everyone around here knows gazpacho, the (originally tomato-based) cold soup with has infinite variations. Is it fair to even call them gazpacho, though? I've heard of many sweet versions: melon gazpacho, strawberry gazpacho, peach gazpacho, etc. It's as if the term were being used to describe almost any fruit-based (or watery vegetable: there's also a cucumber gazpacho out there) cold soup.

Tea is, as many of you already know, one of my absolute favorite worldwide things. Or moments, I should say. Before daylight breaks every morning, I purposely and happily wake up in the wee hours, the house still quiet, knowing I have a while to sit, contemplate, and pour myself cup after cup of Gong fu-style infusions. In the summer it's usually a green tea (these days, one called Fragrant Leaf from Peter's shop); in winter a dark roasted Oolong or an earthy Pu-ehr (warning: this might change in the Bay Area, where the coldest months are the summer ones; foggy days go well with more warming teas). Nothing beats the silence of those waking moments, when the evolution of the flavors in the successive infusions of my tea leaves balances the changing light of another oncoming day. Each day it tastes and feels different, and yet the daily ritual is a safeguard, no matter where I am.

Today is St. Jordi, my favorite Catalan holiday. Today I miss Barcelona. Some say it's the equivalent of Valentine's Day. Maybe so, only it has a cultural addition, which makes it much more interesting. Roses and books, books and roses.

The word tapas comes from the verb tapar, to cover, and the noun tapa, cover or lid. There are many legends that attempt to explain the roots of tapas, although their true origin is unknown. One of these legends claims that tapas were conceived out of a need to cover one's glass to keep the flies out. But were there really more flies in Spain than in other countries? Others state that tapas "cover" one's stomach, i.e. line it with some food, to protect it from the alcohol. (One of the most valuable pieces of advice an old tavernero gave me when I first arrived in Spain in 1998 was "always eat more than you drink and you'll never get drunk".) Yet another legend says that tapas were meant to "cover" the appetites of field workers; they would nibble on something in order to regain their strength to keep working.

The other day, it was a Sunday almost like any other: we had gotten together for a copious Winter lunch with friends. The only difference was that the kids had been invited to a birthday party and we had to rush off sooner than later; not something we usually like to do on Sundays, but it was for a good cause. So we decided to meet our friends much earlier than usual and try to stretch out the cooking and eating part as much as our schedule allowed. Weekend lunches are a lazy affair, however, and after our stomachs were contently stuffed we found ourselves having to get up and go without having enjoyed a full Spanish sobremesa, my favorite part of the meal. Go figure, I had a stomachache all afternoon long! I am sure it was because I did not allow my body and soul the relaxed, comforting digestive time at table it likes to have, especially on Sundays. Sobremesa is a serious affair.

Bienvenidos. Welcome to our Barcelonian table. We wish you many happy meals spent with long sobremesas.

Sobremesa is an utterly Spanish concept, which we hope to transport to this northern California corner of the world. Sobremesa is the time spent after we finish eating, before getting up from the table. Time dedicated to chatting, socializing a bit more, digesting our food, nourishing our souls. We stay at the table as long as we possibly can. No meal is a complete one without a long sobremesa. In Spain, how we eat our food is as important as what we eat.

With us, you shall learn delicious recipes, to be enjoyed sitting among friends and loved ones.